


Visitor

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2017) [30]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drama, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Post-Movie, Sexual Content, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-05 11:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11012235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: “Florentines,” Aguilar snorts.“Stop being such a prude and come play with me.”





	Visitor

Aguilar has heard a lot of things about the Italians, but until now, he’s assumed that much of it had been stereotypical or false.  
  
He’s starting to re-think that.  
  
Ezio Auditore has been in Madrid for nearly a week; he’s been here before, in 1491, but Aguilar hadn’t met him at the time. Auditore’s reputation precedes him, however, and Aguilar is certain that the man has flirted with every Assassin in the complex, male and female both. The reactions have ranged from mild interest to vague amusement to outright violence. Auditore still has the remnants of a black eye- not that it seems to bother him.  
  
Eventually, he comes across Aguilar, and the predictable happens: Auditore looks him up and down, smiles, and says, “Goodness.”  
  
Aguilar stares back at him flatly. It’s not been very long at all since Maria died, and he’s not had that sort of interest in anyone since her. “Keep walking,” he snaps.  
  
“You know where to find me if you change your mind,” Auditore winks at him, and Aguilar rolls his eyes and walks away.  
  
The _nerve_. He had heard that the Florentines were shameless, but this is something else entirely.  
  
Aguilar is still recovering from some of his more serious injuries from the mission to rescue the young prince. He hasn’t been on a mission since, and he’s become fonder of drink than is wise for an Assassin (he doesn’t know it, but five-hundred years from now his descendent will have a similar method of dealing with stress). So that isn’t the last time that he encounters Auditore; not in the slightest.  
  
“So you’re the one who killed Ojeda, mm?”  
  
Aguilar rolls his eyes upward to see Auditore leaning on the wall above him. The older Assassin is watching the sun set with half a bottle of something volatile in his hand. He’s not drunk yet, but he’s nearly there, and it’s just enough to dull his emotions and not _beat_ Auditore upside the head for bringing that clusterfuck of a mission up.  
  
“I am.” Aguilar looks away and takes a long swig.  
  
“I understand he played a role in the death of your family?”  
  
Aguilar pauses, wonders how Auditore knows that, and assumes that, as fucking usual, the Assassin Rumor Mill has been working overtime lately. “ _Sí_.”  
  
“Did it bring you peace?”  
  
For the first time, Aguilar senses that this is not, in fact, an attempt at flirting again and looks back up at the younger Assassin. Auditore’s expression is almost blank- _almost._ There is a tinge of something quite solemn in his eyes.  
  
A memory tickles him, some vague thing he’d heard about Auditore from the same rumor mill that had likely alerted him to Aguilar’s enmity with Ojeda: Something about- yes, yes, his father and brothers being executed, something... Likely to do with Rodrigo Borgia, of course, that’s why he’d come to Spain in 1491. The finer details of the story escape Aguilar but he feels a small pang of empathy for the Italian in that moment. Were his wounds not as raw as they are, he might have attempted to be comforting.  
  
For now, Aguilar takes another long swig of the alcohol and says, “Ask me again when my wounds have healed.”  
  
It’s a misleading suggestion: He’s not sure they’ll ever heal.  
  
Auditore stays, still on some business that Aguilar knows little about beyond that it concerns Rodrigo Borgia. The younger man doesn’t go out of his way to flirt with Aguilar anymore, and Aguilar is grateful.  
  
And it’s probably why their latest encounter unfolds the way it does.  
  
Evening has turned into night, and Aguilar is setting into a bottle of ale with the intention of being incoherent by midnight at least. He paces the length of the base, tries to render his mind blank by hyper-focusing on the things around him: The feel of the wind on his face, the smell of an impending rainstorm in the air, the sound of groaning from-  
  
Aguilar freezes mid-step.  
  
It is, after a moment of concentration, definitely groaning. And upon further examination, it is absolutely coming from Auditore’s quarters, which are only a few yards away; the noise is coming from a window above the doorway that’s open. It’s summer, and for there to be closed windows means a slow death via suffocating heat.  
  
For a delirious moment, Aguilar thinks Auditore must be hurt. It’s not an unreasonable assumption: They’re Assassins, after all. They live rough lives, and the less than half of their numbers are lucky enough to reach old age. The ones that do tend to be in poor shape. It is entirely possible that Auditore has done something to hurt himself, recently or otherwise.  
  
Before he fully realizes the potential consequences of his actions- it isn’t so much that he’s been drinking tonight, so much as it is that he’s been drinking too much over a longer span of time- Aguilar is climbing up to the window and hauling himself inside (not an easy feat when one is still holding a bottle of alcohol by the neck). Directly on the other side of the window are the beams that hold up the building’s roof, and Aguilar’s crawled halfway down the one that stretches the length of the room before he sees Auditore.  
  
And it becomes very suddenly clear that Auditore is not in pain.  
  
Quite the opposite, in fact.  
  
Auditore is lying on a bed in the corner of the room, naked as the day he was born, with his hands rhythmically stroking his cock. No, correction, one hand on his cock, the other... The other in a place the Catholic Church would not want it to be. The thought nearly makes Aguilar laugh out loud, but he catches himself in time and stares down at Auditore as he works on himself.  
  
It’s somewhat humiliating to admit, given how firmly he’d rejected the man’s advances before, but Auditore is actually rather attractive- the face is a given, but Aguilar perhaps should have guessed that the younger Assassin’s body would be so... _Well cared-for_ , so to speak. He’s fit and well-muscled, and Aguilar would be lying if he claimed to be put off by the sight of him stretched out on the bed.  
  
Maybe it’s the alcohol tampering with his mind, maybe it’s the fact that he’s embraced a policy of ‘fuck everything’ since Maria’s death, but rather than turn tail and leave before the other Assassin inevitably detects his presence, Aguilar merely settles down on the beam and takes another swallow of ale.  
  
It’s telling, perhaps, that Auditore is reduced to pleasuring himself without a partner. He’s been rejected by everyone he’s flirted with- else he’s just sexually insatiable. Aguilar starts contemplating ways to ask that question tomorrow subtly without alerting Auditore that he’s been spying. Christ, but he’s really making a meal of it, this one: Taking his time, making his strokes slow and long, and even though the positioning looks awkward, he never stops with his other hand either, the one moving further down. Aguilar can vaguely feel some arousal stirring within him, but he forces himself to ignore it. He’s not a slave to his passions; even less so since his preferred partner in such passions is gone now.  
  
Aguilar takes another drink. _A la mierda todo_. He’s not yet at a point where he can think of Maria comfortably right now. Maybe he never will be.  
  
It’s maybe another few minutes before Auditore lets go of himself, settles into the bed, and looks up to meet Aguilar’s gaze.  
  
“ _Merda,_ ” Auditore says, far too playfully to be sincere. “How long have you been up there?”  
  
Typical. Absolutely _typical_. “Florentines,” Aguilar snorts, shaking his head.  
  
Auditore pouts up at him. “Stop being such a prude and come play with me.”  
  
Aguilar lets out a long sigh, and then downs the rest of the bottle. His descent from the beam is not nearly as graceful as it ought to have been, being an Assassin and all, but he doesn’t drop the bottle and he doesn’t fall on his ass, so for now Aguilar will consider it a victory.  
  
He plops down on the bed and raises an eyebrow at Auditore, who’s taken hold of himself again. Aguilar holds out the bottle in offering, but the younger man shakes his head. “ _Sto bene._ ” He sets a hand down on Aguilar’s knee. “Too much kills the libido, you know.”  
  
Aguilar shrugs, but doesn’t speak. Auditore will get the gist if he pays attention.  
  
“I would be lying if I said this wasn’t a little calculated,” Auditore says, giving his knee a squeeze. “You always walk past my quarters this time of the night. And I’m interested if you are.”  
  
It’s a tempting offer. It tickles Aguilar’s new doctrine of ‘ah, fuck it’; he’s never had sex with a man before, and as far as men go, he can do far worse than Auditore. But Maria clings to his mind, his body, and the thought of another pressed against him the way she once was makes his mind, body and soul sting like salt in an open wound. Also, Aguilar hadn’t been entirely metaphorical when he’d told Auditore his injuries hadn’t healed yet; there were aches and pains everywhere, including a not-completely-healed gash on his abdomen that stings when he stretches too much.  
  
Still, he is not completely averse, and even his alcohol-soaked brain can still recognize a unique opportunity.  
  
“I will stay tonight, if you like,” Aguilar rumbles, fingers playing with the mouth of the bottle, “But I have no energy for the things you have in mind. Not tonight.”  
  
“ _Non è un problema._ I haven’t any intentions to leave Spain for a good, long while. Take your time.” Auditore moves over on the bed, makes space, and Aguilar lies down beside him. He hesitates, unsure of what to do with the bottle, but then rolls over for a moment and sets it down on the floor by the side of the bed, off to the side so it won’t be kicked over later on.  
  
Aguilar’s head finds its way to the pillow just over Auditore’s shoulder, and his hand finds its way onto the younger man’s bare chest, and that is the furthest degree to which they’ll become involved tonight. “Do you mind if I…?” Auditore wiggles his eyebrows a little, and if Aguilar weren’t still feeling so bloody dead inside, he might have laughed at that.  
  
“Go ahead,” He says, trying to adjust to the feeling of a new, different body next to his own. Aguilar watches as Auditore brings himself off, feels the tremors in the younger man’s body under his hand and hears panting near his ear. It’s nice to watch, but strange to see Auditore smile in such a coy, a pleased, an _unrestrained_ way; Aguilar’s not sure he’s capable of that sort of deep, complex emotion anymore. Not right now, anyway, that much is certain.  
  
“When you’re up to it,” Auditore says, lightly rubbing a hand up and down Aguilar’s arm, "I’ll show you why Florence has the reputation it does.” His smile is both wicked and teasing.  
  
Aguilar feels a glimmer of something- amusement, maybe- and makes a vague noise. “I look forward to it.” The words sound hollow, devoid of emotion because he doesn’t have much to put into them, even though he does have interest in fucking Ezio Auditore properly at some point.  
  
But, to his credit, Auditore doesn’t seem put off.  
  
“I’ll see to it you have a good time, _amico_. God knows you deserve it.”  
  
-End

**Author's Note:**

> “A la mierda todo”: “Fuck Everything”  
> “Sto bene”: “I’m fine.”  
> “Non è un problema”: “It’s not a problem.”  
> “Amico”: “Friend.”


End file.
